by Alexia Praks
He cleared his throat and asked, “What’s your name?”
There was a moment of hesitation, and then came the weak reply in a voice that Merrick thought didn’t sound at all like a young boy, “Chris, sir.” The voice was too soft, too feminine, and far too pleasant to belong to a kid in the slum of Hamming.
“Where is your home, Chris? Do you have one? I want to make sure you get there safely and see that your parents are taking good care of you.”
Christine decided that his eyes were too intense on her face, and her heart started to do a series of somersaults because of it. She lowered her eyes and told her heart to calm down. He was only asking her a question, after all.
With a small voice she squeaked out, “In the country, sir. ’Tis very far, sir. You can drop me off here. I’ll walk home.”
Merrick narrowed his eyes. “Don’t be a fool! You’d faint even before you could take a step.”
He was right, of course, and she shoved her face against the emerald-green cushion to avoid eye contact with him, her body curled up into a ball.
Merrick saw that she was shivering in her ball form and wondered if it was from the cold. He took his long overcoat off and gently wrapped it around her.
Christine gasped the moment she felt his warm hand brushing against the side of her face as he laid the thick wool coat over her. This caused her insides to shudder pleasantly, and a sigh escaped her lips.
Merrick noted that she was still shivering and wondered if his coat was enough to ward off the cold. Without further ado—and not caring that the blood and dirt-stained Christine would soil him in any way—he picked her slight body up from the seat and dumped her onto his lap.
Christine stopped breathing for a split second the moment she found herself on her savior’s lap, her head against the wall of his hard chest and her body embraced within his strong arms. She glanced up to see the handsome man smiling at her, his teal-blue eyes twinkling.
“Look, I’m taking you to your home, is that clear?” he said with a no-nonsense tone of voice. “When I want something done, something I consider to be right, I expect it to be done. Do you understand?”
Christine bit her lip, wondering why this man would go to such lengths to help her. She didn’t know these people existed. Didn’t these wealthy nobilities only care about themselves?
“Sir.” She licked her lips as she thought about how she should proceed. This, of course, drew Merrick’s attention. The lips were pale and dry as dust, and yet why they fascinated him so he didn’t know.
“You’re very kind. I don’t know how to repay you that money, but I assure you that I will repay you.”
The lips trembled in the most delicate way. Merrick watched in fascination at the anger and frustration playing in those eyes that were brewing with tears.
“Chris, you don’t have to repay me.”
“But that money you gave Mr. Brad is ever so much.”
“It’s not much to me.”
Christine just stared at him.
“I want no repayment.”
“It’s charity,” she said.
“It’s a gift.”
A gift? Nobody had given her a gift before. She lowered her eyes and said, “But we don’t know each other.”
“We do now,” Merrick replied promptly.
Christine chewed her lip in contemplation for a moment. This was, after all, hard to believe. Then, as if she had come to a conclusion, she said, “Then how will I ever thank you?”
Merrick couldn’t seem to quit gazing into those amazing violet eyes. They drew him in as though he had no control over his own mind. He blinked, looked away, and said, “A thank-you will suffice, Chris.”
“Oh,” was Christine’s reply. Then she said, “But I will repay you. It is not in my nature to only take. I must give back. Perhaps not in money but in other ways. Perhaps one day you may want something from me, anything at all. Will you promise to ask me for it? Whatever it is that you may want?”
She wouldn’t quit gazing at him until he reluctantly agreed with a nod of his head. Satisfied, she closed her eyes, snuggled her face deeper against his warm chest, and tried very hard to ignore the dull ache along the length of her back. Slowly, with the rocking of the carriage traveling along the country road, she drifted off to sleep.
Merrick found himself watching her sleeping for a while, his arms growing rather numb. He, however, didn’t mind for she wasn’t at all heavy and he rather liked the soft body against his. When he realized that that was indeed very odd, he quit his staring and closed his own eyes for he was himself quite tired from the long journey from London.
Instantly, his mind of its own accord flashed to his beloved wife, Angela, and his son, Frederic.
Dead! They were both dead—had been dead for two years now—leaving him all alone in this world. The pain—it was truly unbearable at times, and it was piercing his heart now, twisting and burning.
He gritted his teeth and flashed eyes open.
Violet eyes were gazing up at him. “Are you in pain?” the soft voice whispered. “You have a wound?”
Merrick scowled, his body stiffened. Suddenly, he felt a cold hand touching the side of his face as if to soothe him of his torment.
“The wound, it will heal,” Christine said, smiling up at him.
Something happened that Merrick did not expect. The pain within his heart was slowly fading and being replaced with a warm sensation that was spreading across his chest.
Christine saw his face soften, closed her eyes, and fell back to sleep.
Merrick stared long and hard at the youth in his arms. Slowly, he smiled. It was a very handsome smile that would have caught much attention from the ladies. Automatically, he brushed the back of his knuckles across Christine’s cheek.
“Aye, I agree. It will heal,” he whispered softly under his breath and then closed his eyes.
An hour later, Jacob, the coach master, jumped down from the driver’s seat and opened the carriage door. Merrick was out in an instant, carrying Christine in his arms. When he turned toward the cottage he saw an old man rushing toward them. Behind him stood a woman and a little boy. The woman dashed to him and started hugging Christine. It was awkward for Merrick, standing there and balancing Christine in his arms as well as trying not to get too involved while the family reunited. Finally, he was led inside.
Their cottage was small, and though Merrick couldn’t quite see in the darkness, he was pretty sure it was also very old and in need of some good maintenance.
Merrick found himself ducking to get through the door and entered a small room. It didn’t contain much—just an old settee, a table, and some chairs near the open fireplace, which was burning brightly and heating a pot of boiling soup that gave out an aroma so very tempting Merrick felt his mouth watering.
“Thank you for bringing him home,” the old man said.
Merrick nodded and glanced at Christine. “The boy has been beaten. He will need a few days of rest to heal.”
“Thank you again, sir,” the elderly man said and added, “My name is Tom Smith, and this is my wife, Elaina Smith, and our foster grandson, Tyson.”
Merrick did not miss the fact that Mr. Smith spoke like the gentry. He wondered if there was something more to this family than what they appeared to be. Smith was certainly a very common name in England.
Merrick introduced himself in return as Merrick Hasting.
“’Tis his lordship, the Earl of Huntingdon,” Jacob hastily put in, as though to remind Merrick he shouldn’t forget his proud heritage of an earldom.
Mr. Smith widened his eyes—in both fear and confusion, Merrick thought, not missing the fact that Mr. Smith stared at his wife for a moment or two. There was some kind of silent communication between them as they looked at each other. They did not look at all comfortable at the mere mention of his title. Perhaps it was just discovering they had a peer of the realm in their house and they didn’t know how to deal with the situation. Or perhaps the
re was something more.
Mr. Smith was frowning darkly. At last he said awkwardly, “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“It’s late,” Merrick said and turned toward the door, catching the delectable aroma of soup as he did so. He paused momentarily and then moved to leave.
“Wait, my lord,” Mr. Smith said quickly. “You must stay. I know ’tis not much in here, but perhaps you would share our food? You and your man must be very hungry.”
“Yes, Grandpapa, they can share our food,” Tyson said. “It’s very nice today, better than other days. We have stew and pumpkin soup, very delicious.” He licked his lips.
Merrick glanced from Mr. Smith to the little boy. Then unexpectedly there was an embarrassingly loud rumble from his stomach.
“You are very hungry. You’d better eat before you get sick.” Tyson nodded his silver-blond head at his good judgment.
Merrick smiled. He glanced at Christine and, oddly enough, felt happy. Why, he didn’t quite know, and he didn’t question it for his hunger demanded more of his attention.
“Very well, we shall stay.” He nodded at Jacob.
Mr. Smith said, flustered, “I am sorry, but we don’t have much here.” He turned to his wife. “Dear, Tyson, you two start serving his lordship. I’ll take Chris up to his room.”
They went to do his bidding, and Jacob offered his help.
Merrick saw that Mr. Smith was trying to help Christine up, and in two strides he was beside the worn settee and lifting her up in his arms. “Where is his room?” he asked.
“My lord, you know you don’t have to do that,” Mr. Smith protested.
He sounded irritated, Merrick thought. Why? He should be thankful for his help. Perhaps he thought that since he was an earl such work was beneath him. Most peers would agree with him—they’d never enter a place such as this and do what he was doing now.
He said, “I think your grandson is very tired, and he probably needs a good wash, food, and then sleep.”
Mr. Smith had to agree with that. “This way, please,” he said and walked out the door. “This room here,” he said a few moments later.
The room was very small, with a bed on each side. Mr. Smith led him to one, and he gently laid Christine down. He knew the wound hurt her, so he tried to do it as gently as possible.
“You should go down, my lord, to have dinner. You are hungry,” Mr. Smith said.
At the door Merrick turned once more to look at Christine. She gave him a smile. He nodded in response, rotated on his heels, and headed down the stairs.
The food was simple but a good, hearty meal. He enjoyed his unexpected supper and smiled contentedly. He saw that Jacob too was happy now that his stomach was filled. A while later they took their leave.
At the barouche, Merrick gave Mr. Smith some money to tide them over. At first the old man refused profoundly, but when Merrick pointed out they’d need it for medical care and to buy food, the man finally accepted the help, showering the young man with blessings of good fortune.
“Sir, sir!”
Merrick turned to see Tyson calling him.
“I thank you for saving my sis—huh!” He clasped his mouth with both hands to shut himself up. Then he lowered his face and looked at his dirty boots. “Um, brother and for bringing him home,” he mumbled.
Merrick chuckled and tousled his hair. “Look after him well, won’t you?”
Little Tyson looked up, his eyes large and twinkling as he gazed at the great man. “Oh, I will. Don’t you worry,” he said, smiling.
TWO
Christine’s delicate, shapely back jerked as it was bathed clean with steaming hot water. Mrs. Smith stared long and hard at the hot red wounds crisscrossing along the length of the slender back. She could almost hear the slashing sound of the strap striking.
“There, ’tis done,” she said as she helped Christine turn over. “Oh, dear,” she muttered.
Christine felt pain within her heart as she watched tears flowing down her beloved grandmother’s cheeks. Already, the woman had suffered enough through her life of hardship. Why Christine had gone and gotten herself beaten, which added more burden on her grandmother, was beyond her. She felt so awful that she wanted to throw up.
“Grandmamma,” she began, her voice shaky, “I’m so sorry, and really, I’m all right.”
“No, my dear, you are not all right. We shouldn’t have let you take on that job,” Mrs. Smith muttered, shaking her head.
“Grandmamma, please don’t cry. You know Grandpapa is getting too old and can’t find enough money to keep us all,” Christine said logically.
“Why did I ever allow this to happen to you?” the woman muttered, arranging the blanket around the girl as she got into bed.
“Grandmamma?” Christine said hesitantly. “I… I will have to find another job.”
Mrs. Smith frowned. “My dear, let your grandfather find the work.”
“But Grandpa is too old, and he has done enough for me. ’Tis up to me to support the family,” Christine said.
“My love,” Mrs. Smith protested. “It has been five years. You must stop. What if somebody found out you’re a girl. I couldn’t stand that. They might do something terrible to you. I won’t allow it,” she muttered, shaking her head in disgust.
“Don’t worry, I will be fine. Nobody will find out, and if someone did, what could any of them do to me except beat me? And after all, I’ve managed to survive this last one and several others before.”
“I don’t want you to do any more men’s work. Perhaps if you could find women’s work to do,” the grandmother suggested.
“It would make it too easy for them to find us. You said yourself I look too much like Mama. They’d recognize me, wouldn’t they?”
“Oh!” Mrs. Smith sighed. “There is no hope, is there?”
“Grandmamma, I will be very careful.” Christine reached for Mrs. Smith’s hand. “It’ll work out.”
She yawned, and her grandmother sighed. “’Tis getting late and you must rest. We’ll talk of it another day.” She kissed her granddaughter’s forehead and snuffed out the candle, Christine falling asleep even before the door was closed.
Mrs. Smith walked into her bedroom and stared at her husband’s sleeping form. He looked very peaceful, and she wished she could feel the same. With a heavy heart, she sat on the edge of the bed and gazed out the window at the crescent moon. She tried not to think about the past because it was too painful. She knew they were safe for now. But for how much longer?
* * *
Her surroundings were hazy, as though she were in a dream. Christine fluttered her eyes open and tried to think where she was. Blank. Nothing. Then she realized that she wasn’t sleeping in her own bed. Shifting her gaze to her right, she saw a single slit of light coming from somewhere. Squinting to adjust to the darkness of her surroundings, she scanned around and caught sight of the beautifully embroidered twin peacocks on the blanket. It’s beautiful, she thought, nothing like she had ever seen before. She gazed long and hard at it, admiring it, memorizing the picture within her mind.
A shadow moved, drawing her attention. She narrowed her eyes at the silhouette. That was when she saw it advancing toward her slowly. She realized it was of a man, strong and powerful, and oddly enough, she did not feel threaten by him. Rather, she was curious.
He stopped at the side of the bed. She blinked, and her heart started to dance fast within her chest. She could feel him looking at her, as if he was assessing her, feasting upon the sight of her.
Suddenly, he was beside her on the bed, and that was when Christine panicked. She tried to get up and run but couldn’t. Her mouth opened to scream for help, but no sound came out. What was going on? Why couldn’t she move? She fought to get out of the bed and run for her life.
At last she was free, but as she prepared to jump, a large, strong hand seized her arm. She was swung around roughly, and her face hit against a massive, hard chest. Before she had time to struggle, she was back o
n the bed, her head resting on the soft pillow and the weight of a man on top of her.
He lowered his head toward her, though she couldn’t see anything of his face. This man was so powerful; she didn’t have the strength to fight him. And she didn’t want to fight him at all. His head continued to her neck. His hand came down to her breasts. He captured one in his large hand and squeezed it.
She went still, her head spun, and something down in the pit of her womanhood awakened.
“No,” she whispered. Why did she say that, she wondered stupidly.
The shadowy giant lifted his head up. Though it was very dark, and she couldn’t see anything of him, she could sense him staring down at her.
He whispered near her ear, “You’ll be mine soon.”
She trembled weakly, listening to him laughing at her, though she couldn’t hear any sound at all.
He kissed her. She shook her head, discouraging him. He was persistent, forcing her lips to open. Scared, she started to kick and scream for help. She struggled to get free, screaming again and again.
“No, let go. Help!”
“Christine! Christine!”
“Help!” she shouted.
“Christine! Wake up, Christine!”
She opened her eyes and saw the shadowy figure of a boy’s face above her.
“Tyson!” she cried, her voice shaking with terror. She shot up and hugged him, looking around wildly for the big man, but he was nowhere in the room. As her heart slowed its furious beating, she realized it had only been a nightmare.
It had seemed very real though.
“What was it, Christine? What happened?” the boy asked in concern.
Christine tried to calm herself down. She shut her eyes for a moment and breathed in and out slowly. “It was nothing important, Tyson,” she said, looking at her adopted brother now. “It was just a nightmare.”
Tyson peered at her pale face. “You don’t look well. Was it that bad?”
“Was what that bad?” she asked in confusion.